


A King and a Butler

by OropherionFANatic



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-01 00:10:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1038023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OropherionFANatic/pseuds/OropherionFANatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An on-going work of Galion's life story, from the day of his birth to the peace of the fourth age. This will detail his relationships and experiences, focusing on his relationship with Thranduil Oropherion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginning in Doriath

**Author's Note:**

> I'm pretty new to fanfiction, so if there are any mistakes or blunders please forgive me. I also try to gather as much Tolkien knowledge as I can before writing a story that deals with LotR history, but it's likely that I'll make mistakes in that category as well. Any advice or constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated! All in all, I hope you enjoy this story!
> 
> P.S. - This story is rated "mature" for later chapters, though the beginning will hold less adult content. 
> 
> Disclaimer: All Tolkien characters, landscapes, names, plot lines, etc. do not belong to me. I'm just thankful they're there for me to play with.

He was born in early in the First Age, not long after the founding of Menegroth in the mighty forest of Doriath. His parents were of no high status, his mother being a handmaiden for the Queen Melian and his father holding the title of Thingol’s most trusted servant. Nonetheless, his parents were honest and humble folk and had dreamt long of conceiving a child when their city had at last been completed and the toiling laborers had removed their presence from that of the elves’, for a city with loose stone, sharp tools, and irritable dwarves was no place for an elven babe. 

Just as any other elfling, his face was filled with sun and warmth as he greeted the world. His hair was light but still darker than most of the Sindar, and his eyes were a deep hazel. Already he grinned as he looked upon his parents’ face, and his spirit caused his father to swell with pride. A son was what he had hoped for, of course, so that their line could continue and prosper in the service of the great kings of the Sindar. 

“Galion,” they had named him, simple enough, but laden with a great fate to come in the future ages, even for one so low of status. 

His mother was compassionate and kind-hearted when it came to her son, and Melian was gracious enough to allow the new mother time apart to nuture her newborn. Galion could remember her singing him songs at any given moment of the day, carrying him tenderly in her slender arms and spinning about in the stone gardens of Menegroth as her lark-voice sounded gaily. Her voice was so sweet, supposedly being the cause of love between her and his more often stern father. Nestarion, as his father had been named, was a morose figure intent on providing quality service to his king, always firm but never unkind. Still, his countenance was always one of perfect servitude, explicit loyalty—but Galion’s mother could melt that hard shell with the warmth of her song, and reveal the tender soul beneath. 

Thus his parents had been bonded, and thrived, and could have lived long through the ages with naught but their love for each other. 

His first years were calm and uneventful, filled with his mother’s love and his father’s rare but genuine praise. He was a quick learner, and began to talk well before his first year of childhood had passed. Even at such a young age he possessed the essence of his father, and sought to please his parents in any way he could. He was clean and orderly, and he insisted on helping with chores that may have been too cumbersome for elflings twice his age. More often than not he was unsuccessful with the tasks he set himself about; Still, his parents were pleased with his diligent manor and they lathered him with admiration for his efforts. 

The years passed quickly in peace, with Menegroth prospering hand in hand with the dwarves that had helped to build it. When Galion was thirty, his mother returned to Melian’s side and his father decided to test him in different professions, expressing the importance of knowing where his future lay before the critical age of fifty. Galion tried his hand with the sword and bow, but found that he was ill suited for any sort of weaponry, and indeed found small enjoyment in the ways of war. Though his body was developing nicely, he did not possess the strong build of a warrior nor could he master the balance and fluidity that was required of sword-bearers. He was also introduced to the scholars of the caves, showed ancient texts and records and lectured on the history of both the Sindar and other races of elves. This he found to be a great bore, for he desired to use his hands in a more physical profession, yet one that was not as risky as that of a soldier. It was then that his father took him along while performing his own duties, showing him the kitchens and cellars and private rooms of the Sindar nobles. Galion was taught how to work and please, how to serve and obey, and this he found to be his calling. Watching the way that Thingol complimented his father on his work made Galion want to please the king as well and earn his respect as Nestarion had. He was not a noble and could not amount to more than a low station, but still, being able to serve the noblest of elves seemed an admirable position indeed for the young Galion. He felt in his heart that his purpose was to inspire happiness to others whose lives were filled with tension and sorrow, such as the tedious lives of ever-busy rulers. Besides, to serve a king was a great honor, and to be rewarded by one was even greater still. 

Thus he went about his training, following in his father’s footsteps until his fiftieth year. On the day of his begetting, his father brought him to Thingol’s throne and bid him to bow before the king, who granted him a kind smile and nod of a regal silver haired head. 

“Galion, son of Nestarion, it has been my pleasure to watch you grow and learn,” Thingol remarked, leaning forward in his throne and resting his arms on carven hand rests. “It seems that you have the loyal heart of your father, one of my dearest friends. Thus, on this day of your coming of age, I will grant you your wish, and induct you into my service as a trusted friend. Welcome, Galion, and may your service be cherished by all.”

Galion had never felt so proud in his young life, and the genuine smile on his father’s approving face set his heart to glowing. He thanked the king and promised his fealty for as long as he lived in the palace, then followed his father to be given his official duties.  
That was the day that he met Thranduil Oropherion.  
______________________________________________________________________

Galion was led by his father to a royal lounging room, where apparently his first official task lay. His mind was filled with curiosity and excitement; He was of age now, and authoritatively inducted into the close knit group of Thingol’s private servants. This was a great honor, to serve the silver-haired lord and husband of Melian herself, who was a fair lord and deserving of the best service that could be offered. Galion’s father had also dreamt of the day that his son would follow in his footsteps and become a treasured part of Thingol’s household, for to provide quality servitude was the purpose of their family name. ‘Besides,’ his father had said to him, a rare grin on his sharp-angled face, ’To be a servant of a king is to be a friend of the king, and it may pay to have a powerful friend one of these days.’ 

Galion was almost lost in his thoughts as his father stopped before him, holding out a hand to gesture Galion to stand beside him. The young elf obeyed, stepping up to his taller father’s side, then gazing forward to notice two more figures standing silently in the room. His eyes widened slightly as he recognized a wheaten-haired elf lord, one that his father had often identified as Oropher. ‘Oropher is an ancient and powerful soul, and he has little humor to spare. He cares most of all for his people and family, and has been known to do whatever it takes to provide for their benefit,’ his father had told him, elaborating on Oropher’s serious and stormy manner. The elf lord had been known for his temper, but also for his strength and wit in times of peril, for he was truly a spirit of fire when it came to conflict. Few dared to cross him, and many more respected him as a valued friend of Elu Thingol; Still, it was said that he was capable of great compassion, especially for the ones he loved, and that his hard outer mask was only a façade to frighten opponents into submission. 

Standing next to Oropher was an elfling who looked incredibly similar, with high, shapely cheekbones and thin yet angular lips, a regal nose that narrowed slightly at the tip, and bright eyes that shone with the light of trees and starlight. His hair was just as golden as his Oropher’s, if only a bit lighter, and it already reached well past his breast to brush against his midsection in flowing locks of silk. The young elf looked hardly any younger than Galion, though his countenance was more confident and noble, and he held himself with a conceited air that spoke of his knowledge of his own station. His eyes held no trepidation as he gazed upon these new strangers, and instead a small smirk came onto his lips, as if he expected to receive a new and exciting gift. 

Galion gazed upon the two with rising nervousness, wondering what his father had in mind. He glanced up at Nestarion, who in turn bowed to Oropher, and placed a hand on Galion’s shoulder. 

“My lord Oropher, may I introduce my son, Galion,” Nestarion stated proudly, propelling Galion to stand before him. Galion swallowed as Oropher cast keen blue eyes over his form, examining him up and down before resting his gaze once more on the young servant’s face. His expression was slightly critical and disdainful, but he finally adopted a small smile and placed a hand over his breast, nodding to Galion’s hesitant form. 

“Well met, Galion. I am Oropher, lord and vassal of Thingol our king. And this,” he motioned towards the elfling at his side, who glanced up with curious eyes but offered no expression beyond one of slight boredom, “is my son Thranduil.”

Galion bowed his head to the two elves, placing his own hand over his heart. “I am pleased to make your acquaintances, my lords,” he breathed, keeping his eyes respectively lowered but wondering how the two Sindar lords would react to his greeting. He felt a slight tap on his shoulder—his father telling him to straighten and pay attention—and thus he lifted his gaze and clasped his hands behind his back, waiting for whatever explanation his father had for the arbitrary meeting. 

“Galion, lord Oropher has offered you your first job in the service of our king,”Nestarion stated, nodding towards the Sindar lord, who gave a slight grin. “His son Thranduil will soon come of age, and his responsibilities will increase manifold from that point on. Thus, he will need an attendant to carry out the duties that he has limited time for. You, my son, shall fulfill that position.”

Galion cast a surprised look at his father and then turned back to Thranduil, who also looked as if he had expected something entirely different. It was then that the two finally locked gazes, elven eyes silently judging and evaluating, one set with trepidation and the other with disproval. The tension was not lost upon Oropher, who placed a large hand laden with silver rings on Thranduil’s small shoulder and cast a firm look over the brooding elfling. 

“Your ardent loyalty and perseverance are known to me, young one,” Oropher said, once again placing his regal gaze upon Galion. “I know that you will provide valuable friendship to my son. Perhaps you can also teach him a thing or two about obedience.” With that he shook Thrnaduil’s shoulder, and the young elf gave an annoyed grumble, crossing his arms and casting stormy eyes towards a shadowed corner. Oropher’s mouth twisted down, but he left the issue to the dust, instead dismissing the other elves with a wave of his hand.

“You two shall grow close, whether you wish it or not,” he foretold, straightening his robes over his shoulders. Nestarion bowed once again, bidding Galion to do the same, and the small group was about to turn on the heel and go about their separate businesses when a quiet yet demanding voice said,

“Wait.”

Nestarion and Oropher had already crossed the threshold of the doorway and thus did not halt their progress, but Galion stilled his feet almost as if he was cursed to obey the command. He turned, feeling uneasy in the pit of his stomach, and faced the one he was now to serve. 

“My lord…”

Curtly, Thranduil threw up his hand, demanding silence. He could not have been more than forty, but seemed for all of Arda already a lord of a great kingdom with the way he presented himself. “I am not sure how close you must be to me at times, but know this: I need no help, be it yours or others. Do not seek to keep me in line, for I will keep my own schedule.” He frowned, bathing Galion in an unfriendly air. “Father thinks that we shall become friends, but I have friends already. Great friends, warriors like I shall be. I do not need the friendship of a servant.” The way that he lathered the term “servant” with distaste and judgment made Galion flush with both anger and shame that he should be viewed so lowly. He was, in essence, a servant; but he was the best, most trusted of any servants, the one who would someday serve a king, and he deserved more respect than a common kitchen maid. 

Nonetheless, he bit his tongue, and refrained from snapping out a remark that would earn him a swift and embarrassing chastisement from his father. Instead he bowed his head, fists clenching at his sides, and murmured, “Of course, my lord.” 

Thranduil huffed, rolling his eyes, and turned to leave, but thought of something better at the last second. “Actually, Galion, I have a job for you on the first day of your contract. Father says that my room is disheveled and that I need to straighten it before I can spend time with my friends. Clean it for me, will you?” He placed his hands on his narrow hips, smirking in satisfaction at Galion’s discomfort. 

Galion, however, had no choice but to obey, even on the eve of his begetting. “Very well, my lord,” he ground out, bowing once again. Then Thranduil was gone, skipping delightedly out into the hall, leaving Galion frustrated and flustered at his predicament. If this was his fate for years to come, how would he ever find joy in his profession? He had thought to serve Thingol, or perhaps some other great vassal, even Oropher himself. He would have relished the work he did for those magnificent figures, for they were fair and just and would not have set him to medial tasks. Of course, young Galion had a romanticized view of royal service, and did not know yet that many medial tasks may be required to properly run a kingdom. What he had to endure was only the start of a life of both medial and great tasks, but all souls must start small to become great. That he would learn in time, but not until he was well past his younger years. 

Thinking of his father, and wanting nothing but to inspire pride in his family, he swallowed his ire and went about to his duty, wrinkled clothes and scattered books abound.


	2. Of Coming of Age

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil and Galion's first big falling-out, all because Galion cared enough to protect Thranduil's virtue. Some teen stuff in this chapter, but not enough to be rated mature.

It was many years later on Thranduil’s fiftieth begetting day that Galion learned how stubborn the golden-haired elf could be. 

The years had passed quickly at least in the eyes of the elves, wrought with peace and well-being, though shadow seemed to brew on the distant horizon. But Galion did not concern himself with outward affairs, instead focusing his attention on providing the best service to his Oropherian charge. Thranduil had lost some of his resentment towards Oropher attaching an attendant to his side, instead learning that Galion’s presence could indeed be useful. As the years passed, Thranduil participated in more training and studies, thus leaving chores and appointments to Galion, who accepted them without complaint. Galion tried his best to please Thranduil, though the elf made it clear that his friends were not those of the serving caste; still, Galion felt that it was useless to loathe someone that he would spend many years with, and thus he purged his soul of bitterness and focused on acting out his loyalty. 

His days consisted of bringing Thranduil meals, arranging his clothes, straightening his room, and whatever small tasks the young lord would grant him. More often than not Galion would finish his chores early and be dismissed by the younger elf when he went to training, therefore giving him time to focus on other duties. It was in these times that he was offered work by Oropher, or by other nobles. He took these jobs with eagerness, longing to become closer to the other nobles besides his young, stalwart lord. In rare instances he would offer his help to the other servants, stacking crates in the kitchens or inventorying supplies in the cellars. He learned fast the duties of the stewards and butlers, and entertained a thought of moving his service from one individual to an entire household. That decision, however, was Oropher’s to make, for Galion’s father had pledged his son to the Oropher’s line and it was the elder elf’s desire for Thranduil to be served and watched. 

And watched he was, for Galion’s duties did not stop at service. He found that Thranduil was a audacious and adventurous lad, slipping out of his room at odd hours in the night to rally and plot with his friends. The elflings could not aspire to much trouble, of course, but Galion worried for Thranduil’s status with his father if Oropher ever found out. He took it upon himself to keep Thranduil in check, forgoing his own rest to make sure that the elfling stayed in his room and missed any opportunities at troublemaking. This annoyed Thranduil to no end, and his tactfulness grew as he found ways to evade Galion, causing great concern to brew in the servant’s heart. It would be only a matter of time before Thranduil involved himself in real trouble, or left Menegroth altogether and ran into some dark force beyond the eyes of the guards. Despite his ill feelings for the little brat, Galion had no wish to see him hurt or severely scolded by his father. He still had hope that he and Thranduil could forge somewhat of a friendship someday, and Thranduil would have to understand that Galion only had his best wishes in mind.

Thus trouble came about on Thranduil’s coming of age, long after the festivities and dinner with his parents had ended. Galion had offered his aid to the kitchen staff that evening, considering that his father was playing the personal servant to Oropher, his wife, and his son. The servers were more than happy to accept his aid and kept him busy well into the evening, carrying platters here and sweeping there, then finally helping to clean the ovens before the night was finally complete. He had bid farewell to his peers and considered heading straight to his family’s quarters, for Thranduil had gave him his freedom for the night, but something in his mind warned him otherwise. He decided to check on the young lord before he retired, figuring that Thranduil may want a late night drink, or a draught to help him sleep after all the excitement. All other things considered, Galion simply had the urge to check on his charge, having become familiar over the years of Thranduil’s mischievous ways. 

The halls were quiet that time of night, for most of the patrons had taken to their beds and were far into sweet dreams. But somewhere on his way to the larger resident wings Galion heard hushed noises, things that sounded like excited talking, and bumping against carved walls, and quickened, panting breaths… Suspicion unfurled like a fern frond in his chest, and he sped his pace along the walkway, following the voices. 

It was not long before he came across an alcove, situated along a splendidly worked likeness of a forest path, and draped with silvery fabrics that glimmered in the faerie lights like flowing water. Galion snuck silently among the carved trunks of stone trees, delicate leaves highlighted by pinpoint lights of deep green and blue, making the static landscape instead seem full of life. Even the air that flowed through the caves resembled a cool breeze, making Galion think for all the world that he was outside walking in Doriath instead of beneath Menegroth’s splendid ceiling. 

The sounds were louder now, distinguishable among the quiet whisper of air and far-off fountains to Galion’s sensitive ears. His nose crinkled in distaste as he heard a heated moan, then a sharp intake of breath, the sound of limbs moving over limbs. He had no question of what was taking place behind those curtains, though something still seemed off. That’s when he heard the dooming words, 

“Thranduil, I’ve never seen such beauty as yours…”

And Galion knew.

Without stopping to think, he rushed forward and threw the silver curtains aside, exposing two elves within. One older elf, a male guard who Galion did not know but had seen among the trainees in Menegroth, was pressing another elf against the stone wall, one hand wrapped behind a shapely neck, the other lifting a slender thigh to rest on his hips. The other elf—Thranduil!—was half-naked, his tunic stripped and flung carelessly in the corner, his hair disheveled and clinging to the sides of his face from passion-induced sweat. Galion’s eyes fell upon Thranduil’s form, already so tall and muscular for only just coming of age, and noticed passion marks blooming on the sculpted collarbone. He almost couldn’t help his eyes as they traveled lower, seeking out that damning sight of passion, but he stopped himself at the last moment, instead turning an incredulous gaze at the pair. 

The intertwined elves wore twin expressions of surprise and confusion, but only for the second it took to process the situation. While a light of amusement slowly crept into the older guard’s eyes, Thranduil’s face steadily reddened and twisted in rage, his arms coming out to steady himself as he disentangled himself from his partner and turned to face the bewildered Galion. 

“What is the meaning of this?!” Thranduil growled, authority leeching from his deep voice. 

Galion almost fell back, almost apologized and moved on; but he remembered who he was, and what his duty was, and refused to let Thranduil’s commanding presence quash him. “I should be asking the same of you!” he shouted, gesturing curtly at the still-clothed soldier, who had crossed his arms and leaned back against the alcove wall. 

This burst of defiance took Thranduil by surprise, and he bristled as a wolf who had been pinned and threatened by his captors. “I am of age, Galion. I do as I please—and this is what I desire. Now turn around and leave, before I report you to my father.”

Galion laughed nervously at the threat. “Oropher? You think you’re going to take me to him and complain? Of what? How will you explain this?!”

“I need not explain anything,” Thranduil spat, frustrated. “I am fifty now and have every right to bed another!” But still hesitation shone in his eyes. His father would not approve of his blunder, having only just came of age and deciding to give his virginity to a mere house guard. 

Galion knew this, and knew that there was no love in this coupling. “My lord, you have only today come of age. Do you really want to give yourself up this quickly? Do you want to waste that precious gift? Or do you love him so, this… this random man?” he waved his hand at the guard, who suddenly seemed quite bored, and made to sneak out behind the two quarreling elves. There was a pause in the batter as Thranduil’s eyes followed his partner’s retreat, sudden hurt and shame lighting their depths. But as always, he was not subdued for long, and let his emotions fuel his fiery anger. 

“What does love have to do with this, Galion? Perhaps I wanted an experience. I wanted to know what it was like. I wanted to experience pleasure—but I don’t suppose you would know anything about that, would you?”

Galion’s mouth opened and shut as he searched for a remark, knowing that Thranduil was right—he was over sixty now and had never even considered bedding another. But he believed that pleasure was not to be sought only for one night, rather for the sharing of love and tenderness and the span of a lifetime. His mother had led him to believe that since he was a mere babe, and he was not about to fall for Thranduil’s hateful mockery. 

“That doesn’t matter,” he ground out, straightening his back in defiance. “What matters is that you gave this no thought. That guard, he didn’t give you a care. He was taking advantage of you, Thranduil. Can’t you see that?”

Thranduil shook his head, unfazed. “No, Sidhion would never do that. He’s my friend and I trusted him. He has been my teacher in many ways and I would have learned more, if you hadn’t so rudely interrupted us!”

Galion frowned, crossing his arms. “You’re wrong, Thranduil. He’s gone, notice? You come into trouble and he leaves with a snap of the finger. That is no friend.”

Fleeting realization crossed Thranduil’s face, but he was not one to give up so easily. “He had no reason to take advantage of me. I would have willingly given myself to him.”

“And what was he going to give you in return? Partnership? Everlasting love? And Valar know your father wouldn’t have approved…”Thranduil’s face fell into shadow, and Galion’s chest filled with regret. He didn’t mean to hurt the young elf, or criticize him for his choices. But something deep inside him genuinely cared for Thranduil’s well-being, and he knew that this situation would have only led to heartbreak. 

He stepped forward, retrieving Thranduil’s tunic from the ground while at the same time avoiding glancing at the flawless skin. He could feel the residual heat emanating from the warrior-in-training, could smell the passion that has passed between the partners before he had arrived. The sensations he suddenly felt caused his ears to heat and his palms to sweat, both confusing and frightening him. He had no place thinking of his lord in such a way—he had no place to think of anyone that way. His work came first, pleasure came second, and besides, he had just made clear to Thrandui how improper it was to lust after someone. Why did he suddenly feel this way, and why couldn’t he stop it?

He took a deep breath, hoping that Thranduil hadn’t noticed his lapse in control, and willed his heart to steady. He straightened and handed the tunic to the forlorn elf lord, who snatched it quickly and heatedly. “My lord, you are still young. You have a whole life to live—do not let others take advantage of you.” He swallowed, watching as Thranduil smoothed out the wrinkled fabric, studying the play of fingers over silver thread. Without thinking, he murmured, “Alas, your beauty shall make that difficult.” At this Thranduil raised an eyebrow, and Galion realized what he had said. 

“You think I am beautiful, Galion?” Thranduil asked, changing the subject completely and still holding his shirt at his side, unworried about his exposure. In fact, he seemed to display himself, chest stuck out proudly, abdomen flexing with each deep breath. 

Galion hesitated, ripping his eyes away and running a hand through his hair. “Anyone can see your beauty, my lord, not just I. I only hope that you do not waste it.”

Thranduil fell silent, contemplating, and his eyes searching deep beneath Galion’s skin, but finally donned his tunic and brushed off the tension. He followed Galion out of the alcove, placing his hands on his hips. “I appreciate your concern, Galion. But still, you have no right to say what is right and what is wrong for me. I will make my own decisions and you will follow my commands.” He straightened his collar about the sculpted neck, the pulse still beating strongly beneath alabaster skin, and smoothed his hair back from his temples. “You’re my servant—not my guardian.”

Galion bristled at the comment. “Of course, my lord. But I will not let you disgrace yourself. In time you will appreciate what I’ve done.”

“In time…” Thranduil huffed, crossing his arms. 

No further words were exchanged, and a stoney silence ensued. Galion gestured for Thranduil to follow him, not allowing the young lord to traipse off on his own. He led Thranduil towards the suites of the Sindar lords, large private rooms set aside for the king and his closest friends. They entered Thranduil’s room without words, Galion going to start a fire and Thranduil plopping unceremoniously upon his large bed. The young lord requested a goblet of wine when Galion had finished his task, and so Galion obeyed, pouring a silver glass half full with sweet, red liquid. 

He watched Thranduil with suspicious eyes as he drank, and the elf lord only glared at him atop the glass rim. 

“Can I trust you to stay in your rooms, or shall I stand outside all night?” Galion asked, pulling a sleeping gown from the wardrobe and laying it on the back of a plush sofa. 

Thranduil swirled the wine in the glass, chuckling sardonically. “You need not worry about me escaping Galion. Even if I did have the wish to return to Sidhion, I doubt he’d take me after the show you put on earlier.”

"Well, all the better then," Galion stated, unfolding silky white fabric.

He heard the young elf growl behind him, could sense ire in the air. "I'll be the laughing stock of my sparring partners, no doubt. All because my servant played the part of hard-ass guardian."

Galion frowned, tugging at his tunic in discomfort. “What I did was for your benefit. Now stop pouting, and get yourself to bed. Your father will wonder what you’ve been up to if you rise late.”

At this Thranduil straightened, lowering the glass to his lap. “You’re not going to tell him, are you?” he inquired, eyes narrowed. 

Galion shook his head. “No,” he sighed, “I won’t. Because I believe that this isn’t entirely your fault. Sidhion, or whoever he is, was taking advantage of you, whether you believe it or not. And you’re too young to know better.”  
Thranduil laughed, crossing a leg over the other. “You speak to me as if you’re my elder,” he said, setting his wine glass on the bedside table. 

“Well, I seem to know more than you do,” Galion bit back, puffing out his chest. 

Thranduil grinned, almost predatorily, and slid off the bed to come and stand before Galion. The older elf couldn’t help but notice that Thranduil was almost a whole hand taller than him, and he still had years to grow. Not to mention he was broader in the shoulders, his muscles were more defined, and those eyes… they were as clear as a pristine river, as green as new sprouted leaves. And they seemed to look right through him. Galion took an involuntary step backward.

“About what?” Thranduil purred disdainfully, coming to stop inches from Galion. “About stacking wine barrels? About building fires, folding clothes, and cleaning ovens? Tell me all you know, Galion, for I am so lacking of knowledge.” 

Galion took a shaky breath, heat filling his breast and cheeks. “Do you find pleasure in demeaning me, my lord Thranduil? Is this how you make yourself feel superior, after knowing that I was right?” He knew that he was stepping on eggshells with those words, but he had to defend himself. 

Thranduil was quiet for a minute, those eyes piercing through Galion’s hazel orbs like daggers. His voice was soft, almost a whisper when he spoke, but seemingly much more dangerous. “Watch your words, Galion. You should be glad that I haven’t punished you for embarrassing me like you did, and now for trying to rise above me. But I won’t tolerate your presence any longer.” He placed a finger on Galion’s chest and pushed back, strong enough to set the shorter elf off balance. “Now, GET OUT.”

Galion shot him a glance that spoke of anger and sadness both, angry that he hadn’t gotten through to the stubborn elf, sad that he had probably just caused himself months of dismissal and scorn. He had truly wanted to help Thranduil, to make him understand, to make him see… but he hadn’t succeeded. He had only fueled the fire, and now he was burnt. 

He gave one last bow, his hair hiding the despair on his face, and then left Thranduil’s room far behind him.


	3. The Plot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their heated argument the night before, Thranduil acts strangely towards Galion and seems distant. Galion wonders why, but doesn't find out until it's too late.

Galion had returned to Thranduil’s service the next day, though the young elf lord said hardly a word to him. This is what he had expected after their feud the night before, so he tried not to let it affect him overly much. But the way that Thranduil dismissed him with a simple wave of the hand, or hardly commented on his work, or simply walked away from him without uttering a word, it all spoke of grudging dismissal. Galion knew he shouldn’t care, for Thranduil was in essence his master and he could not expect great friendship with the young Sindar lord. But even his father had hinted that prime servitude could lead to everlasting friendships, and this felt only like the onslaught of doom. 

And there was something else, Galion realized. That one feeling that had frightened him and excited him both at the same instance. He realized that he indeed cared for Thranduil, cared for him very deeply within his heart. There was something about the young lord, perhaps in his defiance and spunk, as well as his strength and valor at such a young age. And he was not without compassion, Galion could see that, but his youth lent him an explorative and rebellious nature that masked the softness within. It was unlikely that Oropher’s stern treatment of his son helped with this, seeing as Thranduil inherited much of his moodiness from his father. Galion only wished that the resemblance hadn’t been so stark. 

Galion had spent the day completing small tasks, such as organizing Thranduil’s journals and papers, stacking new wood in the corner of the room, bringing meals and tea, and carrying linens down to the wash maids. It was not even evening when the young lord returned from sparring practice, his braided hair soaked with sweat and face gleaming with perspiration and silver sword hanging loosely from a leather scabbard. Galion gave him a nervous bow, the armored lord always making him feel more uneasy and intimidated, but Thranduil hardly acknowledged his presence. Instead he marched to his bed, unbuckled the belt, and laid his sword upon the red comforter. He then began unbuckling his leather armor, fingers working deftly despite the difficult buckles. 

“My lord… may I be of assistance?” Galion asked, lost to a purpose. 

Thranduil did not turn, only shook his head. “No,” he said, plainly and unfeeling. Galion clamped his mouth closed, clasped his hands behind his back, and waited, let down. 

Many long minutes later Thranduil finished his task, brushing hair back from his angular face then fidgeting with something on his hand. Then he turned to Galion, who straightened at once with attention, and walked forward to stand before the serving elf. 

He held Galion’s eyes with his own, the link like that of an iron chain, and placed his hand upon his chest, right above the small crest of Thingol’s house on Galion’s tunic pocket. Galion flinched, confused, but stood his ground. 

“You have served me well enough this day, Galion. Go, and enjoy some time to yourself.” The words were empty of any resentment or genuine kindness. They were simply plain, spoken with nothing but a voice. Galion was genuinely confused, but dared not to pry further. Instead he took his granted time and nodded, placing a hand to his chest when Thranduil had removed his own. 

“Thank you my lord,” he murmured, unsure. But Thranduil gave him not another thought and strode away to his personal bathing chambers, completely silent. 

Galion watched him, his mind trying to work out whether he had really pleased Thranduil and earned his time, or if Thranduil simply wanted him gone from his presence. He hadn’t shown anger all day, hadn’t mentioned one thing from last night, but instead had been quiet and absorbed, as if in his own private world. Galion hadn’t inquired about the strange behavior, afraid of inspiring the ire he had felt the previous night. But now he was left curious and concerned, thinking that Thranduil’s dismissal was worse than his bitterness could ever be. 

Galion decided to drown his worry in progress, as he often sought to do. Thus he lent his help to the other servants, helping to polish stone forests and replace lamps that had lost their luster. He even had a chance to breathe the fresh air of Doriath, for he was given some tapestries to take and beat out the dust before rehanging them in the halls. He took a pause from his work in this moment, standing upon a cliff above Doriath and gazing down upon the Esgalduin. He could feel the rhythm of the mighty river as it surged over rocks and under outcrops, divulging around the pillars of the great bridge and then merging again as one great force. He turned his head west, towards a few small clearings where the nobles’ horses were kept. There stood great whites and greys, and one magnificent bay that belonged to Thingol himself. Galion entertained the thought of owning a horse someday, for the beasts were loyal and provided enjoyable company, though he had no idea of what he’d use one for. It was unlikely he’d have the time to care for it anyway, and it would be abuse to let the creature stand idly in the stable all day with no master to share in its company. 

With one last look at the setting sun, the colors of orange, red, and violet highlighting a cloudless sky, he turned and carried his load of tapestries back into caves, feeling a strange sense of longing when he had left the open air. 

He finished his jobs not soon after and took a meal with the other servants, conversing and laughing at meaningless stories. They were gracious enough to share a flask of wine with him, one of Thingol’s best vintages that he occasionally gave to his staff, which Galion savored with long, slow sips. Then he thanked his peers, bid them a good night, and headed back towards his rooms. 

He had not reached the living halls before he was waylaid by another member of the serving staff, this one a messenger. “Galion, son of Nestarion, you have been summoned by the lord Oropher,” the elf said plainly, pausing a second to make sure Galion understood. 

Galion was taken aback at the summons—Oropher wanted to see him? At this time of the evening? It was so strange, for the elf lord hardly asked for his presence unless it had something to do with his son Thranduil. He also knew that Oropher preferred to retire to his private rooms early with his wife, for he was an early riser and often practiced in the sparring fields before the sun ever rose. Perhaps something was wrong—had Thranduil gotten into trouble and been discovered? Had Sidhion spread rumors and they had somehow been revealed to Oropher? Or had Galion completed a task wrongly, had left something incomplete and disorganized? But still, why would the elf lord be calling him so impromptu? 

But Galion could not think too much on the summons, for surely Oropher was expecting him. “Thank you,” he murmured, dismissing the messenger, then altered his path to seek out the royal wing. 

He had only knocked once when Oropher’s deep voice commanded, “Enter.”

Galion strode slowly inside the double doorway, shutting the heavy panel behind him and standing obediently at the entrance. His eyes took in the scene before him: Oropher’s private rooms, elegant and void of no pleasures, full of shining artifacts and armor. A fire was burning brightly in the hearth, its soothing crackle doing nothing to lessen the tension in the room. For in an armchair beside the mantle sat Oropher, scowling with a dark look on his face, hands clasped in his lap. Thranduil stood behind him a ways, leaning up against a bookshelf with a shadowed expression. Both elves seemed moody and ominous, especially the elder, whose glower could melt a stick of wax. 

“My lord Oropher…” Galion offered weakly, a worrisome feeling filling his stomach. 

Oropher said not a word, but raised a hand and gestured with one finger for Galion to come closer. Galion obeyed, his knees feeling weak, and he inched forward begrudgingly to stand before the elf lord, who looked upon him with an unhappy gaze. 

“Galion, do you know why I’ve summoned you here?” he asked, eyes trapping Galion’s in a net of authority. 

Galion swallowed, shaking his head, and glanced to Thranduil in the corner, who only looked away. 

“Look at me.”

Galion forced his gaze back down to the demanding features, his hands hanging limply at his sides. 

“I brought you into my service because of your father’s boasts. I thought you a diligent and trustworthy lad, one who would provide my son with the companionship and service he would require.”

Galion’s brow twisted in confusion, not understanding where Oropher was leading. “I… I remember, my lord,” he whispered, his voice tight. 

Oropher’s expression became disdainful and he blew out a sigh, shaking his head. “Then I don’t understand why you’ve wronged me, Galion. More specifically, why you’ve wronged my son.”

Galion stared, incredulous and lost. “Wronged you? But my lord, what have I done?” he squeaked, wondering why Oropher would be so angry at Galion’s saving of Thranduil’s virtue. For that was surely the cause of all this—Oropher must have learned of last night’s events, and for some reason blamed Galion instead of his own son. But Galion had done everything he should have; he had protected Thranduil from one who would have taken advantage of him. So why was that such a grave offense?

Oropher leaned forward in the chair, his hands traveling to the armrests and gripping them in iron grasps. “Do not play coy with me, Galion. Thranduil knows of your transgression. You cannot evade the truth.”

Galion looked towards Thranduil, his hand shaking as he lifted it to run through his chesnut locks. “I… I didn’t mean to wrong anyone. I was trying to do my duty, I swear,” he stammered, his voice on the verge of breaking. 

Oropher seemed a bit confused at this confession, but nonetheless frowned, his gaze becoming threatening. “Well, you have most certainly wronged us. Now give it back to me, before I tear apart your belongings to look for it.”

Galion’s eyes widened and his mind filled with misunderstanding. “Give it back? But I didn’t take anything…” he stated, his grasp of the situation completely shot. 

Thranduil took this moment to finally speak, taking a step forward from the wall. “It’s in his pocket, father. I saw him put it there,” he exclaimed, pointing a finger towards Galion, who only stared in disbelief. 

He shook his head, thinking there had been some sort of mistake. “No, no—there’s nothing in my pocket. I’ve taken nothing,” he said in defense, but before he could act, Oropher rose and used one hand to lock around his bicep and the other to reach into the pocket over his breast. To Galion’s horror and astonishment, the elf lord pulled out a small ornate mithril ring, carved in the likeness of vines and inlaid with many small, glimmering diamonds. He held it up in the firelight and cast his evaluating gaze over it, turning it almost lovingly in his fingers, then turned back to Galion, wrath in his eyes. 

“N-no… no, that cannot be!” Galion exclaimed, distraught. Then any other words he may have spoken were buried under the onslaught of a brutal backhand to his cheek, so violent that it sent him flying backwards and into an opposite chair. He lay on the floor, momentarily dazed, until the searing pain in his skull caused him to blink and groan. He sat up, slowly and cautiously, placing a palm to his newly-forming bruise. Oropher stood glowering over him, while Thranduil had inched closer, the look on his face almost… concerned. 

“You lying thief,” Oropher spat, stepping forward, to which Galion hurriedly drew up his legs and huddled against the chair, afraid of what other violence he might endure. “First you steal my son’s ring, an heirloom from his mother, and next you lie to my face, numerous times before I proved you wrong! I should take you to the king for this.”

Galion shook his head, shoulders trembling in confusion and fear. “I s-swear, my lord! I would never steal from your son, or anyone else in Menegroth! I gave my word!”

“And yet here we stand,” Oropher hissed, holding the ring before him. 

“Father—,“ Thranduil called from behind the chair, sounding as if he might intervene, but Oropher held up his hand to silence him.

“Quiet, Thranduil. I shall deal with our culprit.”

It was then that a knock sounded on the door, and Oropher called out a greeting similar to what he had for Galion. It was Nestarion who entered the room, just as confused as Galion had been, and extremely shocked when he saw his son huddled on the floor, trembling like a leaf in the wind. 

“Oropher, what is this?” he inquired, as Galion exclaimed, “Father!”

Nestarion bent to place a hand on his son’s cheek while Oropher explained, “I have caught your son stealing from my son, Nestarion. He has taken an heirloom of great value, and then blatantly lied to me when I accused him of the theft. Nonetheless, my suspicions were correct; I pulled this from his tunic pocket.” And he held up the diamond ring, shining like condemnation in the firelight. 

Nestarion took a few moments to comprehend it all, head whipping back and forth as he gazed at the ring, then at Galion, then at Oropher, and back to Galion. His features were first enraged, then disbelieving, and finally mournful. 

“Is this true?” he asked Galion, whose eyes welled with tears at his father’s hurt voice.

“Father, I swear, I would never steal anything from our lords!” he cried, grasping the front of his father’s tunic with a hand, begging him to believe him. 

But the evidence was too strong, and Nestarion was one to believe proof. “He found it in your pocket, Galion. How can you explain that?”

Galion shook his head dejectedly, his breaths coming short and fast. “I don’t know. I don’t know how it got there—but I didn’t steal it! I’ve never seen it in my life, I swear!” Nestarion only gazed at him with antipathy, and Galion’s features fell with despair. “Please father, please! You have to believe me!”

But Nestarion turned away, removing his son’s fist from his tunic and rising to bow before Oropher. “I am shamed by my son’s antics, my lord. I never believed him capable of such offense, but I suppose there is a first to everything.” He glanced back at Galion, who gazed up with tear-filled eyes. “I never meant for this to occur. I ask your forgiveness, and your mercy.”

Oropher scowled, falling back into his armchair. “I do not hold you to blame Nestarion, for you have always been the best of servants. But your son has offended me to an extreme degree, and I am afraid I can no longer trust him in my service.”

Nestarion nodded. “Understood, my lord. Know that he will receive punishment according to his crime, and will likely never return to the personal service.” 

At this Galion’s head shot up, and he cast a pleading look to his father. “Please,” he whispered, broken. “Please don’t do this.”

But Nestarion only turned away, brushing his son’s words off like dust. “Let me deal with him, my lord. You have my word that he will receive due punishment.”

Oropher considered this, almost seeming that he would refuse. But he finally nodded, resigning to Galion’s fate. “Very well, take him. But do not let me see him near me or my son again, else he will receive worse than a bruise.”

With that Nestarion pulled Galion to his feet, nearly having to drag Galion’s numb body to the door. “No!” Galion begged, looking to Thranduil, who still stood off to the side. But something was wrong there—his face was twisted in many emotions, but none as should have been. He looked regretful, and worried, and refused to meet Galion’s gaze. His arms were clasped defensively around his abdomen, and he seemed incredibly guilty, which Galion had not at all expected. That’s when Galion knew. 

“Thranduil! THRANDUIL!” he screamed, fighting his father as if insane. But he only received one more glance from the young elf lord, one that spoke of haughtiness and ignorance, before he was dragged from the room.


	4. Realizations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil finds Galion in a stoney forest of Menegroth, mourning over the events of the previous night. The two have another heated argument, and something passes between them, something that Galion refuses to accept. But Thranduil is ever stubborn, and won't give up so easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter, and the next chapter will likely be short as well. Sorry if the flow of conversation is not entirely smooth - I'm extremely quiet in real life so I'm not very experienced in that aspect hehe. Not to mention I can only remember about 100 different English words to use at a given time, even though I'm usually a pretty decent writer. Bleh, enough of my complaining. Hope you enjoy anyway!

It was the next evening that Galion sat in one of Menegroth’s stone forests, his forehead cradled in his hands as he huddled against a life-like stone trunk. His father had nearly disowned him the night before, dragging him by his ear as if he was a ten year old elfling to their rooms and throwing Galion at his bed. ‘You have disgraced my name!’ Nestarion had lamented, his face a mask of disappointment and betrayal. Galion hadn’t known what to say, couldn’t have known, for he could not prove that Thranduil had placed the ring in his pocket.  
For that was what happened, of course. Galion recalled the previous day when Thranduil had placed his hand on his breast, right above his pocket, but held his gaze so that he wouldn’t notice the drop of the ring into his tunic. He had been such a fool, to allow the elf lord to trick him so. If only he had paid more attention, instead of being held by those fierce eyes and letting his emotions rule his mind, he may have noticed the pinpoint sensation of the mithril hoop against his chest. But he had been preoccupied and hadn’t noticed till it was too late. By then, his puzzlement had made him seem like a lying fool, which was likely Thranduil’s intention all along. 

It was rare for an elf to steal or commit any other sort of crime. Thus, Galion’s father had been extremely upset at him, and even his mother had avoided his gaze for much of the evening. Galion had begged his mother to believe him, assuring her that he would never wrong the lords that he served. But she was more apt to listen to Nestarion, whose livid anger convinced her that the crime was genuine. She didn’t even offer Galion comfort for the growing bruise on his cheekbone, which was now the size of a small apple and had caused the lower side of his eye to swell. It was then of all times that he needed his mother’s support, but none could be found.

He sat against the stone, the coolness seeping into his weary muscles, and raised a hand to gingerly touch the soreness on his face. He hissed at the sting, drawing his fingers back quickly, and sniffed piteously as he wrapped his arms around his knees. Never had he felt so alone or betrayed, and he had only wished for the best for the one that had betrayed him. He couldn’t believe that Thranduil had been so cruel as to cause such rift in Galion’s life. If he had hated him so much for what he did, then why not just ask Oropher to dismiss him from his service? He needn’t have said anything about his begetting night, only that he was displeased with Galion and wished for a different servant. It would have hurt just as much, but at least Galion wouldn’t have been put in such a dire predicament. Now he was banned from serving the Sindar lords, and his future looked bleak, for who would trust an elf that had supposedly stolen a valuable heirloom from one of Doriath’s most powerful families?

So absorbed was he in his grief that he hadn’t noticed the footsteps approaching him until the other elf stood right before him. Galion’s head whipped up, eyes passing over fine boots and silver robes, to see Thranduil standing above him. His heart froze in his chest.

“Galion…” Thranduil greeted, somewhat uncertainly. 

“Don’t,” Galion interjected, standing up from his position on the ground. He raised an accusing finger at the young lord, his hand shaking. “Don’t even speak to me. Go away.”

Thranduil gave a blank look, but said, “But I need to talk to you, Galion.”

“Talk to me?” Galion huffed in sarcasm, eyes wide. “What is there to talk about? You have what you want, now leave me be!” He went to move away, but Thranduil caught his forearm and pulled him back.

“Let me speak!” he commanded, his grip like iron. 

Galion wrenched his arm from the grasp, taking a few steps back to distance himself. “Don’t touch me!” he exclaimed angrily, holding his hands up defensively. Thranduil made no move to pursue, though he refused to back down. 

“Galion, just listen—“ 

“No! I am not your servant any longer, thus I will no longer follow your orders!”

Galion glared at Thranduil, and both elves sought to control their temper, nostrils flaring and chests heaving with quickened breaths. Finally Thranduil calmed, lowering his gaze and clasping his hands in front of him, his long blond hair sifting like silk over his shoulders. 

“Galion, I… I am sorry. For what I did. I never meant to hurt you like this.”

Galion scoffed, shaking his head. “Well, meant it or not, you did hurt me. You’ve ruined my career and my relationship with my parents. Do you know how my father looks at me now? Like I’m some sort of orc, about ready to stab him through!”

Thranduil flinched at the words, glancing up apologetically. “Surely it cannot be that bad…”

“But it is!” Galion exclaimed, his voice strained and eyes crazed. “A servant’s greatest value is his trust, and I have lost it. Everyone thinks I’m a thief now, especially your father. Who, by the way, literally threatened to kill me if I set foot in his presence ever again.”

Thranduil’s head shook slightly in denial, his brows knitted. “No, my father would never do that. He… he overreacted, that’s all.” He glanced up at Galion, true shame in his always bright eyes. “I didn’t know he would lash out like that. I never meant for him to hurt you.” And he reached towards Galion’s face, towards the dark and ugly bruise, but Galion deftly smacked his hand away, thoughtless of consequences. 

“You made your choice, Thranduil. I once thought that we could be friends, but I was wrong. I only wanted to protect you, to help you make the right choice. But apparently my reward for protecting your virtue is a lifetime of cynicism and revulsion. No one will ever trust me again, most of all my parents. My father shows me nothing but contempt, my mother will not look at me, and the other servants cast looks at me as if I’m a harbinger of darkness—all because you had not the mind to simply dismiss me from your service. No, you had to make a great show of it and disgrace me for life. How dare you!” His voice rose in a shout, and before he could give it second thought, he lashed out with a punch towards Thranduil’s face. However, he was no warrior and the punch was slow and sloppy, giving the more experienced Thranduil plenty of time to block. 

The younger elf caught Galion’s wrist in mid-air and with seemingly little effort twisted it back, throwing Galion off balance and felling him to the stone floor. Galion’s back hit with great force, driving the breath from his lungs and causing stars to float in his vision. Thranduil fell with him, pinning his wrists above his head and straddling his waist, holding him to the ground with his greater weight. Galion struggled as soon as he regained his breath, trying in vain to throw the elf lord from him, but only succeeding in tiring himself. 

The struggle finally ceased, Galion gasping for breath as Thranduil stared down at him with a curious expression. Then their gazes met, and something passed between them—anger? Acceptance? Denial? Desire? Galion became aware of the heavy weight on his waist, the warmth from Thranduil’s body seeping into his, his helplessness as his wrists were pinned in the warrior-strong grip. His eyes were caught by the forest-green orbs, electricity passing between the two, tension multiplying until it became a thick blanket in the air. 

Then Thranduil released one of Galion’s wrists, but the latter did not move as the lord moved his fingers to the bruise on Galion’s cheek, brushing lightly and gently over the darkened flesh. Galion drew in a breath, his mind flooded with haziness at the soft touch, then with confusion and excitement as the finger traveled lower, ghosting like a butterfly’s wing over his lips. Galion became aware of Thranduil’s strong scent, that of pine and cedar, and crisp mountain air after a mid-morning rain. There was also the slight fruity scent of grapes on his breath—had he been drinking? 

Then reality returned, and Galion became aware of yet another sensation. Something hot and hard against his belly where Thranduil sat astride him, long and strong and desirous. Realization and panic flooded Galion’s mind, and he jerked his head away from Thranduil’s hand, twisting his body violently under the younger elf. “Let me up! Release me!” he cried, pushing against Thranduil’s chest with his free hand. 

Thranduil regarded him with confusion and something akin to hurt, but he complied without complaint, moving himself off of Galion and sitting to the side with legs folded beneath him. Galion shot up into a sitting position, running a hand over his heated face and avoiding the sight of Thranduil’s more than obvious desire. He sighed into his trembling fingers with a shaky breath, dozens of thoughts crossing his mind, and not all of them appropriate. No! he told himself, trying to force images of sultry passion from his head. You can’t desire him! He betrayed you, and he’s above you in every way, and his father would kill you if you touched him… but he is oh so beautiful, those strong hands still soft and unworn, long hair golden as sunlight and fluid as silk, crystal eyes and moist pink lips, chiseled cheekbones like a marble statue… that intimidating heat as hard as a rock…

“Galion?” Thranduil inquired, reaching out a hand to clasp Galion’s shoulder. Galion, wanting no contact lest he lose his already dwindling composure, shook it off forcibly. 

“What is wrong with you?” he exclaimed, still refusing to look into those eyes like glistening peridots. 

Thranduil frowned, pulling back. “What is wrong with you?”

Galion grimaced, shaking his head. “You act like a rutting stag! One day after you come of age, and you turn your attentions on someone you barely know, and… and me!” 

Galion heard a sharp intake of breath, sensed Thranduil struggling to find words. “You’re right; Sidhion was not the right person to place my trust in. But you, Galion… it’s not as if I hardly know you.”

Galion looked up then, his eyes filling with moisture, whether from anger or frustration he could not know. “Don’t say it, after all you have done. Don’t even dare…”

Determination and fire filled the Sindar lord’s eyes then, and he clasped his hands around Galion’s biceps, refusing to let him slide away. “I did not want to hurt you Galion. I never meant…” He swallowed, closing his eyes for a second, and setting his jaw determinedly. “I wasn’t angry at you because you embarrassed me. I think… I think I was angry because you didn’t take initiative. The truth is, well—I’ve grown close to you, but I just didn’t know how to show it. I’ve never been the best at showing affection…”

Galion’s mouth worked, his face reddening, his heart racing. He shook his head over and over, unable to accept Thranduil’s words, indeed not wanting to hear them at all. 

“No, Thranduil. Stop. You don’t know what you’re saying. You can’t feel those things—“

“But I do feel them!” Thranduil gave Galion’s arms a shake, startling the slighter elf and bringing his agonized gaze to his eyes. Thranduil’s expression instantly softened and became almost pleading. “And you feel them too. You cannot deny it.”

Galion sniffed, a tear sliding free of his hazel eye to travel in a shimmering path down a pale cheek. “It does not matter what I feel. It never has, and never will. Even if I felt longing for you, I could never act upon it, and that is the real barrier between people like you and me.”

Thranduil inched closer, cocking his head to the side. “What do you mean Galion?” 

“I mean that I am a servant, far below your rank. And you,” a pained expression came over his face, and his eyes narrowed, “You are a lord from an ancient, powerful bloodline. There is a chasm between our stations, one that we cannot ever dare to traverse.”

Thranduil shook his head slightly, eyebrows knitted in denial. “It does not matter. Things like that should not matter—even Melian, a Maia, left Valinor to be with Thingol after he beheld her. Do you consider that a breach of station?”

Galion yanked his arms from the strong hands, unable to bear their touch anymore. He wrapped his arms around himself, pushing back against a stone wall lit with thousands of pinpoint crystal lights. Thranduil watched him with concern and longing, but kept his place a few strides away, resigning to Galion’s efforts to distance himself. 

“That is different, lord Thranduil. Everything is different for you and I.” He brushed his hand against his chest, trying to lessen the pain that was persistently blooming there. “Great things are expected of you. You must wait to find true love, not give in to the bond of master and servant, which is likely all that you feel for me.” He drew in a shaky breath, knowing that he was wrong in denying his own feelings, but also knowing he could never accept them. “And you must find a maiden of station to wed one day, for surely children we be expected from you. You cannot fall in love with a servant, a male servant at that.” He hung his head, more tears falling from his closed eyes. “And now that I have been framed for theft, I am completely untouchable. To be seen with me would be interpreted as poor conduct, and a young lord cannot risk his reputation.”

The air was quiet for a long moment, the only sounds that of Galion’s labored breaths and Thranduil’s short, frustrated ones. The soft whisper of fountains was like a wind in the night, calming and mystifying, but doing nothing to lessen the distress for these two troubled souls. 

Finally, Thranduil spoke, his voice low and strained. “I will fix this, Galion. I promise you that. If nothing else, I will right my wrongs.” Galion heard the swish of fabric as the other stood, the soft creak of leather as the boots flexed from their long stressed position. He glanced up to see Thranduil gazing away, towards the distant sparkling walls that looked so much like starlight. His face was beautiful in that moment, a vision from the heavens with its perfect skin and sculpted features. A pale glow was cast about his face by the simulated starlight, and the green depths of his eyes sparkled with a soft blue aura. But his face was hard again; the jaw clenched arrogantly, the brow furrowed to shadow the sharp eyes. He was once again Thranduil Oropherion, the only son of Oropher, strong and stubborn and set in his ways. But even Galion could not miss the slight tremble of his clenched fists, or the barely perceivable film of moisture lining his bottom eyelids. 

“I am sorry my lord, but you have to know the truth. This is the way things are,” Galion murmured softly, stricken that Thranduil was so sullen, even with everything the young lord had done to him. 

Thranduil looked down to him, his mouth opening as if to reply. But then it shut abruptly, his eyes tearing themselves from his servant on the floor. He only nodded, a sharp and quick motion of the head, then spun on his heel and trod steadily away down the stone forest path, robes flying behind him , his back a wall of finality that could not be breached. 

Galion, his own heart confused and torn, his emotions spinning wildly out of control, could only sit against the wall, legs curled up to his chest and chin resting on his knee. He could not stop the tears from coming, for the emotion was too much to force down any longer. All that had happened in the past day came flooding back to him—Thranduil’s betrayal, Oropher’s violent berating, his own father’s dismissal, his mother’s sorrow. And then his realization that he indeed harbored feelings for his young lord, feelings that he could never act upon because of protocol and his sullied reputation, and the fact that he could not bear children as a female could. The fact that he felt anything at all for Thranduil both disappointed and elated him; the young lord had all but abused his power the last few years, openly disapproving of Galion’s presence and always trying to evade him. But then there were the smaller, harder to notice moments, such as the lingering touches, the slight smiles, the fleeting instants of silence where Thranduil had actually tolerated, even asked for Galion’s company. Perhaps Galion had remained ignorant to these, not wanting to believe that they could be true, that Thranduil could actually feel something for him. For what could he expect from a lord of position, when he was nothing but a lowly servant, forever fated to wait upon those greater than him? 

Galion grit his teeth together, burying his head in his hands. His grief welled up like a great flood inside him, covering his heart in cold shadow and darkening his thoughts. He no longer tried to fight it, and instead let it carry him far away into sweet oblivion, where at least his thoughts could not hurt him any longer.


	5. The Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil keeps his word and sets right his wrongs; Thranduil takes one thing from Galion so that he does not regret a lifetime of being separated from his passions. 
> 
> Once again sorry for any mistakes or choppiness! I'm hoping to become better with my writing as I go along, so it'll be a slow journey. Hope you enjoy nonetheless!

A day had passed in the realm of Doriath when Galion was summoned to Oropher’s chambers once again. 

The young elf had secluded himself in his room within his family’s quarters, forgoing any food or drink since he had returned late the night before. His eyes were red and dry from his sorrow and his hair was matted from all the times he had ran his hands through it, a motion that he found was repeated continuously from frayed nerves. He had not changed clothes, nor had he bathed since the previous night. He had not even slept a bit; he had simply locked himself in his room and sat in the sill of his small window, opening the shutters to let in the crisp fall air. The trees were far below him and covered the bottoms of the hill in a thick green blanket that resembled the color of Thranduil’s eyes, the Esgalduin could not be seen but its strong, deep murmur was like that of Thranduil’s voice in the quiet moments, sultry and smooth and sweet as spring berries…

And so his thought had stubbornly led him back to Thranduil, no matter how he tried to evade that golden haired elf lord. He tried convincing himself that he hated him, and that his feelings the previous night had been from the overload of sensation and Thranduil’s closeness. But he could not deny the longing in his heart, the strange and foreign love that was so alien to him at such a young age. He had heard love stories and had seen the bond between his own parents, but never had he expected to feel the sensation for himself, especially for the son of Oropher, whose first impression had been one of untouchable regality. 

But he had fallen for him, somehow, someway. And now he was destined to mourn over his useless love as the moon mourns its chase of the sun, always running but never nearing the one it wanted most. 

IT was with a hard voice that his father roused him from his thoughts, knocking upon his door and calling out his name. Oropher wanted to see him, he had said. And he prayed that the fiery lord would not attempt to strangle Galion this time, for Valar forbid Nestarion had to miss his work to save his son once again. 

Thus Galion found himself trudging towards the royal wings, his eyes rough and cloudy and his appearance worse for wear. His mind tried to warn him against his path and the danger that lay ahead; would Oropher really try to hurt him again? The pain in his cheek was still too near, though the bruise had faded to an almost imperceptible shadow thanks to his accelerated elven healing. Still he worried and fretted, considering turning back and running right out into the woods of Doriath, dangers be damned. But he would never be so foolish, for he was weak and had the undeniable urge to follow any orders given to him, no matter how unpleasant they seemed. Thus he found himself standing in front of the double oaken doors carved with scenes of wildlife and flowering vines, his lips trembling as he reached out a hand to knock. 

“Come in,” the solid voice commanded, and Galion obeyed. 

The scene was much as it had been the last time he was there, with Oropher sitting in the armchair by the hearth and a fire burning brightly within. But Thranduil was absent this time, and Oropher’s sharp-featured face was not pulled tight in anger. Instead it was sympathetic, his mouth and brow drawn in concern, and his eyes exempt of much of their severity. 

Still Galion trembled, remembering the golden lord’s temper and strength. He wondered what his fate was this time, what Oropher could possibly want him returning for when he had threatened violence if he ever set eyes upon him again. Perhaps Thranduil had woven another lie, despite his determination to “set things right”. Perhaps he had grown tired of pining after his meager servant and wished to be rid of Galion once and for all, banishing with him the heart break and consternation of love not acted upon. Or perhaps Oropher had learned of Thranduil’s feelings, and wanted to quash them himself in any means necessary, for his son was too important for the likes of a thieving servant. 

“It is alright, young one. Come here,” Oropher called, breaking the tense silence. He held out a large hand and flexed his fingers in a summoning motion, bidding Galion to come closer. 

Galion didn’t want to believe him, but the sincerity of his voice gave him hope for a better outcome. He forced his feet to move, his eyes fixed on the carpets as he inched forward. He stopped a stride away from the elf lord, who did not force him to come closer. Instead Oropher bid him to sit in the opposing chair, and after a moment of hesitation, Galion complied. 

“You are nervous, Galion. I can see that. But you have nothing to fear,” Oropher assured him, his voice calmingly soft. Galion glanced up at the blue eyes, trying to find some sort of trickery there, but only finding honesty. He did not know what to say but nodded slightly. 

“I was a fool to act out as I did. A lord should never lose his temper, yet I gave into my anger as easily as a savage.” Oropher reached across the gap to place two fingers against the faded mark on Galion’s cheek, at which the younger elf jerked and turned away, his skin remembering only pain and fury. Oropher pulled back, regret written plainly on his face, but he continued, “I would ask your forgiveness for my transgression.”

Galion raised his unsure gaze to that of the old elf, his eyes silently calculating. Then he carefully, softly said, “You did nothing wrong, my lord.”

Oropher shook his head. “No, I did everything wrong. I assumed the worse and struck out against you. I was wrong, in every way.”

Galion straightened, puzzled. “My lord… what do you mean?”

Oropher sighed and leaned back into his chair. “Thranduil told me the truth.”

Galion’s heart skipped a beat. “The truth?”

“Yes, Galion. The truth, and all of it.” The lord laced his fingertips together, silver rings sparkling in the firelight. “He admitted to his foolish lechery on the eve of his begetting, and how you miraculously appeared to prevent him from making a choice he would regret long after.” He blew out a heavy breath, voice laden with disappointment. “I should have seen this coming, yet I have failed in my duties as a father to have not discerned his motives. I should have been there, not you.”

Galion cast his gaze to his lap, trying to prevent his face from reddening. “It was my duty just as much as yours, lord Oropher. And I did not mind it.”

Oropher laughed softly. “Such modesty you have, young one, and such humility. Qualities that a great servant should possess—and yet my son framed you nonetheless because you cared too much.”

Galion’s gaze travelled upward to see the shame on Oropher’s face, a look unbecoming of the usually serious Sindar. He could not believe what Oropher was telling him, that Thranduil had truly admitted to his guilt! The young lord had said he would set things right, but Galion had not expected him to confess to his father, who would likely hold as much anger for Thranduil as he had for Galion. In truth, Galion worried for Thranduil’s outcome in the whole situation, though his mind tried to reassure him that it was not his matter. He was no longer servant to the young hot-headed ellon and owed him no empathy after the hurt he had cast upon Galion; still, Galion felt the familiar tug of emotion in his heart, one that he had worked so hard to banish but was as stubborn as a stain. A stain of foolish affection it was.

“My lord, I know it is not my place to ask, but,” he paused, taking a small breath and wondering if it was wise of him to speak such words, but his curiosity proved the better. “You did not treat lord Thranduil too harshly, did you?”

Oropher cast an inquisitive look at Galion, who ducked his head lest his warming face give away too much. He could feel the weight of those eyes on his cheek and the imposing aura that Oropher used so often to quell disputes and arguments in his followers, but he shook it off as commonplace. Oropher would be curious if anyone asked after the well-being of his son—it was a father’s duty, was it not? But why did that gaze hold so much weight and curiosity, when all he had done was ask one small question?

“He received due punishment, as much as a young ellon can. And he will have duties to tend to in the coming days so that he is constantly on his feet. And one more thing, of course; He will have to apologize to you directly, as well as to your parents. I daresay you’ve felt the disapproving weight of many a gaze this past day.”

Galion’s blush deepened, but this time from embarrassment. “Yes, my lord, I have.”

“Do not worry, then, for this trouble will soon clear.” Oropher’s expression was one of surety; His edict was final. 

Galion bowed his head in thanks, though in his heart he felt troubled still. News of his assumed crime had spread throughout the realm quickly in a day’s time and thus had earned him all of the scorn from his peers; therefore, the truth may spread just as quickly and harm Thranduil’s reputation. Others would cast upon him the same look of scorn that they had upon Galion, for deceit was a lowly crime for the elven race. Would Thranduil’s friends still accept his company, and would his tutors still believe him full of potential? Would Thingol look at his young vassal with distrust because he had acted on his frustration and hurt his servant when all he had had to do was simply ask his father to release him? Perhaps Thranduil would suffer from sharp tongues and heavy gazes just as Galion did, but in truth the young servant wanted nothing of the sort. Despite the distress he had gone through he wished no evil upon anyone else, and only wanted the matter to clear up indefinitely with no consequences. 

Oropher seemed to sense his thoughts and inquired, “Is something wrong?”

Galion shook himself out of his thoughts and shook his head quickly, knowing that he could not reveal his deepest worries to Thranduil’s father. “No, my lord. Forgive me, I mean only to thank you for this resolution.”

Oropher scrutinized him a moment longer, then relaxed back into his chair with all the pomp of a lord. “You are welcome. In actuality I should be thanking you for not abusing this situation and taking your complaints to the king. You have been extremely understanding, and for that I am all the more pleased.”

Galion gave a strained smile, trying to accept the thanks of the lord, but still feeling uncomfortable in Oropher’s presence. “I am only doing as my father taught me, lord Oropher.”

Oropher grinned, tapping his fingers on his thigh. “Of course you are. Nestarion is an exceptional ellon—I couldn’t ask for a better attendant. I see that his son will follow in his footsteps. Which,” he sat forward again, his eyes catching Galion’s in a serious hold, “reminds me. Thranduil begged a request of me, and I thought to show him compassion by granting it. He wishes me to return you to his service—if you would have it, that is.”

Galion sat back, eyes widening slightly at Oropher’s proclamation. Thranduil wanted him back in his service? He felt as if he should refuse straighaway for all the trouble Thranduil had put him through, but some deep feeling in his heart stopped him. He thought of what had transpired between him and the young lord the night before, the angst and passion that had flowed between their souls like a river that had finally found its path. He knew that he had to dispel his feelings for Thranduil because they could never act upon their love, if that was what they really felt. The best way to do that would be to avoid him as much as he could, and that meant never returning to Thranduil’s side as his attendant. But there was a small part of him that seemed to wither when he thought of never seeing his young lord again, for what other path had he envisioned in life? In the past years that Galion had served Thranduil, they had grown close even without realizing it, even with hatred and frustration boiling between the imperceptible lines of desire and longing. Somehow, in less than a dozen years of service, a mere blink of an immortal eye, Galion’s soul had undeniably been drawn to that of Thranduil Oropherion; And even if he could not draw himself closer with physical love, he could stay by his lord’s side, and that small presence would be enough. 

“Does he wish for me to return?” Galion asked softly, though he believed he knew the answer. 

Oropher cocked an eyebrow. “Indeed, he does. He regrets all that he has done and admits that your protection has always been for the best. He wishes to outgrow his foolish childishness, and believes that you can best help him.” He gave a small smile, the corner of his thin mouth twitching upward. “And to be truthful, I would appreciate someone like you to watch over him again. My stubborn boy needs more than his parents’ guidance, it seems.” 

Galion closed his eyes, taking a slow breath and feigning indecision. But in his heart he knew his answer, and knew that no matter how distant his love would have to be for Thranduil, he would do his duty by helping him become a great lord. 

“Yes, my lord. I will serve him again.”

Oropher nodded swiftly, pleased. “Good. He will be happy to hear this, though his own duties will keep him busy for a time to come. You may return to whatever obligations you held before, but you have my permission to take more free time for yourself. My son has a thing or two yet to learn in humility.” He stood, golden hair sifting around to fall before his shoulders and nearly to his waist. He motioned for Galion to stand as well, curling his hand upward in the firelight. 

“Thank you, lord Oropher,” Galion murmured, bowing at the waist. He suddenly had an urge to be gone from the decorated chambers, Oropher’s presence ever being one of intimidation and anticipation. Galion had heard all that he wanted to hear, and now feared to stay any longer lest Oropher fall into more conversation that could ultimately lead to intimate questions. Surely some of Galion’s behavior could be counted as odd, especially when he should be much more upset and angry over the situation than he had been, and Oropher was never one to miss oddities. He could only hope that a swift departure might drive the matter from Oropher’s sharp mind and dispel any suspicions that Galion cared for Thranduil more than a servant should. 

Galion rose again to see Oropher gazing at him with those deep blue eyes, the gaze of a wise hawk that was both curious and prying. But the lord did not voice any suspicions, only brought forth a smile and waved his fingers towards the doors. “Thank you, Galion, for being the noble soul that you are. Now go, and be at peace this night.”

And so Galion left, his feet carrying him a little faster than they should have. He could feel the heat of Oropher’s gaze on his back as he left the room, but his mind was on the Sindar lord no longer as he stepped into the cool air of the stone hall. He was suddenly very tired, and wanted nothing but to go and find the sleep that he had lost the night before. 

Thus he was surprise when a hand reached out from another door and pulled him in as he passed. It was Thranduil, who had been waiting for him behind his own door to his rooms. The young lord was dressed in a simple undertunic and loose leggings, his feet bare and long hair unbound to fall clean past his shoulder to the middle of his back. His eyes were dark and sunken, as if he too had not slept, but they still held a fierce flame that could not be dampened even with conflict. His hand was gentle as it gripped Galion’s arm and pulled him into the dim room, lit only by a dying fire, and the door offered only a faint whisper as he swung it closed. 

“Lord Thran—“

“Shhh,” Thranduil cautioned, placing a finger upon Galion’s lips. However, before the darker-haired elf could become uncomfortable, Thranduil removed his hands and stepped back, letting his arms fall uselessly to his sides. “Speak quietly. My father may hear, for his ears are as sharp as his tongue.”

Galion’s face twisted in confusion, but he nodded nonetheless. His eyes ran over Thranduil’s tall form, taking in the slackness of exhaustion, and compassion flooded his heart. “My lord, what you did—you didn’t have to tell him. You shouldn’t have.”

“I had to,” Thranduil stated sharply, shaking his head. “I said that I would make things right, and thus I followed through. What I did was wrong and this was the only way to atone.”

“But your punishment—“

“Was minimal. My father is not as cruel as you think, and what punishment I suffered was just for the distress I caused you.” He sighed, looking back towards the softly whispering fire that cast its dancing shadows on carved reliefs in the walls. “Besides, why should you care? I hurt you. Are you not content to hear that I am paying for my wrongs?”

Galion shook his head, face shadowed with sadness. “No, of course not! To wish for your pain would be just as bad as causing it.”

Thranduil looked up at him then, his forest green eyes both suspicious and hopeful. When he saw that Galion was truthful his body visibly relaxed, and he let out a deep breath. 

“Did my father tell you my wish?”

Galion nodded, taking a step forward. “Yes, my lord. And I accepted it, as was only right.”

Thranduil’s brow creased, as if he was trying to find some sort of flaw in Galion’s speech, or as if he was trying to look beyond the screen of his hazel eyes. His hands flexed at his sides, as if they wanted to reach out and it took all his willpower to keep them still. It bit at Galion’s heart to see him so conflicted, to not believe what he had said. True, it had been Thranduil’s fault for all the complications, but no one deserved to feel the hate and distrust of another when they had genuinely denounced their transgressions. What Thranduil had done was no more than the over-reaction of a confused, passion-ridden heart, compensating for the need that it could not fulfill. Galion could not hold that against him, not any more.

“I forgive you, lord Thranduil. For what you did, I hold no blame against you. I only hope we can start anew, and become friends as we should have.” Galion reached out a hand, offering Thranduil a grasp of companionship. 

Thranduil looked at the extended hand for a moment, his mind seeming to work and grind behind shadowed eyes, but finally he reached out and clasped it with his own. His voice was strained and soft as he ground out, “I do not deserve your friendship, Galion. You are too honorable of a soul, and I should have seen that from the start.”

“But we are young, my lord. We can only learn through experience, and this was our first.”

Galion went to release his hand, but found that Thranduil would not let him. He looked up then to see the forest eyes gazing intently at him, discerning the soul behind his skin, ever searching for the parts that Galion desperately tried to hide. The intent and emotion in that gaze was too strong to dismiss, and Galion felt an uneasy itch creep up his neck, tickling the hairs at the nape.

“My lord, remember last night…” Galion warned, his voice turning low and cautious. He took a step back, but still his hand was caught in the young warrior’s grasp, and Thranduil only tracked his position by taking twice as many steps forward. 

“I remember what you said Galion. I am not a fool.” He took his other hand and used it to envelop Galion’s completely in golden heat, causing a shiver to run up his spine. “I have thought on your words and know them to be true. And you are right, I am young. Perhaps what I feel cannot be trusted.”

Then he stepped closer, trapping Galion against the wall, his slightly taller form seeming a formidable barrier. Once again his heat seared Galion’s body, and the older ellon had to avert his eyes from the pale skin in front of him peeking up boldly from the dip in the tunic front. 

“But you see, it is because I have accepted this fate that I must now take action. I want you by my side, Galion, and you want to be by mine. I know this.” He reached up and took Galion’s chin in his hand, gently but firmly forcing the hazel eyes to gaze into his own. Galion’s breath caught in his throat at the sincerity and passion he saw there. 

“My lord…” Galion started, trying to move away. But Thranduil only hushed him, pressing him up against the wall. 

“Hush. Let me finish, and then do what you will.” He released his grip on Galion’s chin but brought his hand to rest on his cheek, opposite from the bruise that was now fading into an ugly yellow tint. His thumb stroked the soft skin, sending a jolt of warmth into Galion’s belly and holding his gaze just as effectively as his grip had. His voice was deep and husky as he spoke again. “It is because of the realization of the rift between us that I must do this. I can spend an eternity with you at my side, Galion, never advancing upon my desires and settling for friendship. But I must do this one thing first, to have something to cherish in my thoughts and keep me from making foolish decisions. If I do not kiss you at least once, Galion, then I will forever hold regret in my heart.”

And then he leaned forward, closing his eyes and enveloping Galion’s lips in a tender yet passionate kiss. Galion was caught in his own web of desire, losing the will to fight, and he melted into his lord’s embrace, closing his own eyes in total surrender. 

And though it was meant to be brief and minimal, Thranduil could not help his hunger. Out darted his tongue, hot and slick, to brush against Galion’s lower lip. The older ellon moaned wantonly and parted his mouth, allowing Thranduil to claim it in one graceful movement of moist muscle. There their tongues met, new and unexperienced at the game of passion, but learning ever so quickly. Together they danced in the wet darkness, twisting and stroking and lapping, until both elves were faint with pleasure and had to gasp for air. Then they both pulled back, panting and staring at each other with wide eyes, until Thranduil finally spoke. 

“And so I shall hide my feelings for you, Galion, with that as my fondest memory.” His voice was quiet and sad as he spoke, as if he was surrendering his most prized possession, and perhaps he was. Galion could only share in the feeling of loss, his chest heaving as he tried to quell the newly awaked passion, the tingling and bruised sensation of kissed lips. He wanted to reach out and comfort Thranduil, perhaps comforting himself in the action, but he knew that to do so would only invite more heartbreak. It would be hard enough to forget their passion now after having shared such a moment, but Thranduil had been right. Galion would rather have had this memory than none at all. 

“I am so sorry, Thranduil,” Galion whispered, leaning back against the cool stone, forcing his hands to remain at his sides. 

Thranduil closed his eyes, hanging his head and shaking it slightly. “Do not be sorry for your passion Galion. That is the one thing that I will never regret.” Then he looked up and gave the smallest of smiles, though the sadness in his eyes was evident. 

“You’d best leave now before father comes to check on me. I will see you soon enough, my friend.”

Galion swallowed, the sad, defeated tone biting at his heart. But he quashed his sorrow and hid the desire behind a thick wall in his mind, promising himself that he would never act upon it again, both for his and Thranduil’s own good. 

“Of course, my lord,” he acknowledged, giving a slight bow. He cast one last look at his golden haired lord, the one who could have been so much more had their birthrights not separated them so, and their eyes met. Understanding and acceptance passed between them, and the matter was settled, never to be spoken on again. It was a memory now, forgotten, dark and lonely and forbidden. And ever, ever so sweet. 

Galion left without another word, wandering back towards his own rooms with his family. The energy had been drained from him completely so that he did not even acknowledge his parents as he entered, deigning that he would tell them about the meeting in the morning. Now he was too tired, both mentally and physically, and wanted only the oblivion of sleep to help disperse the troubled feelings in his heart. So he threw himself upon his bed, clothes and all, and said not another word, but his mind was not as silent. As he slipped into reverie and its merciful gray mists, Thranduil’s fair face was the last thing on his mind, and the feeling of his warm mouth was still as clear as the daylight that would come again.


End file.
